


Half Truths

by kiwipuppy



Category: Gravity Falls
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-16
Updated: 2015-03-17
Packaged: 2018-03-18 04:25:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,679
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3555929
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kiwipuppy/pseuds/kiwipuppy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dipper needs to be patched up, but the hospital will ask too many questions. This leaves few options. Takes place after the events of Sock Opera. No ships.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote the first chapter of this fic right after Sock Opera came out, but I only just made an AO3 account the other day. There's a second chapter that I'll post later today, but I'm sorta running late here as it is.
> 
> On tumblr: http://ectopuppy.tumblr.com/post/98006992526/half-truths  
> On Fanfiction: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/10752457/1/Half-Truths

“Are you sure you changed your mind about going to the hospital, Dipper?” Mabel questions softly, as they walk towards the mystery shack. Dipper is still wearing the reverend outfit Bill had changed him into for the play. He’s carrying his bundled up clothes with his right hand, and gingerly holding onto his hat with the other. Dipper sighs softly, and stares in the vague direction of the shack.

“They’ll ask too many questions. Questions I can’t answer properly,” He says, shifting the bundle under his arm. He lowers his gaze to stare at a rock embedded in the earth at his feet. “Besides, I’m pretty sure he didn’t break anything.”

“Well, we should at least ask Stan to look at you hand.” Mabel replies. She’d been convinced Dipper was okay as they left the theater, but now she could see the distinct purple and red bruises blossoming just bellow the hem of Dipper’s shirt sleeve. Worry had sunk into her stomach as she watched Dipper cradle his arm in the car. A little pang of anxiety stung her with every small hiss of pain he made when the car jostled.

“No,” Dipper whispers forcefully, eyeing the door Stan had disappeared through moments before. He spins on his heel to face his sister. Mabel’s eyebrows shoot to her hairline, and she stops walking. She opens her mouth to protest, but Dipper cuts her off. “He can’t know about this. The only reason Bill came after me in the first place was because of the laptop. He said I was too close to uncovering something. If Stan finds out about this, he’ll know I broke my promise. He’ll take the journal away!”

“This is serious Dipper!” Mabel counters, making sure not to raise her voice too high. Dipper is acting like a child. It doesn’t matter how important that journal is, no book takes priority over him. “Besides, do you really think Stan wont notice you’re hurt?”

“He sure didn’t notice that I wasn’t me all day!” Dipper retorts venomously. Mabel flinches at the words, and Dipper’s face softens slightly. He looks like he wants to take back what he said, but he just stares intensely into Mabel’s eyes. A silent, tense moment passes between them before Dipper looks away. He swallows hard, something he only does when he’s frustrated or angry. Guilt is nagging at Mabel’s heart. Dipper takes a deep breath. “Sorry, it’s been a long day. I’m just… Tired.”

“He’ll notice.” Mabel says, after an uneasy beat. She tries to sound confident, but a tremor runs through her voice. She can feel the question sitting at the back of her skull: _What if he doesn’t?_ She tries her best to shake it off. _Of course he will. Stan loves us. He wants to keep us safe._ She reminds herself. Dipper stares down at his hand for a couple seconds. He lowers it to his side and sighs deeply. Mabel has obviously made up her mind on the issue. Dipper knows from experience that he’ll never be able argue his way out of this.

“Okay fine, but don’t tell him about Bill.” Dipper says quietly. Stan knowing about Bill seemed like a bad idea. Bill was dangerous, yes, but what could Stan do about it. Even if he did know about the weird goings on around town, he was still an old man. He couldn’t hold his own up against Bill any better than they could. “I’ll tell Stan it happened when we fell from the rafters.” It seems like a believable enough story. Mabel thinks for a moment before slowly nodding.

“I don’t think we should keep it from him,” She adds after a beat. “But if you really don’t want me to, I won’t say anything. Besides, I don’t even know what really happened.” It’s a subtle implication that dances in her eyes. _You can tell me anything._ Dipper pretends not to notice. It’s obvious that whatever happened, he isn’t ready to share. Mabel doesn’t press Dipper on the details, but she hopes he’ll tell her later. Once he’s had some sleep and a little time to process.

Dipper smiles softly at Mabel, a silent _thank you_ in his eyes. He’s extremely glad to not have to share the days experiences quite yet. He’s appreciative of Mabel’s subdued demeanor, if a little worried about it. She’s very obviously troubled if she’s not acting like her bubbly, excitable self. She has a passionate look in her eyes that tells him she isn’t dropping the matter entirely. Dipper thinks he is okay with that.

The two of them make their way to the shack and slip inside the door. Stan is standing in front of the open fridge as if contemplating what to eat. Dipper’s eyes fall to the drawer to his Grunkle’s right, it’s slightly ajar. Dipper’s hand twinges and his gaze drops to the floor instead. There’s a small puddle of soda at Stan’s feet. Dipper’s stomach turns, and he touches his face covertly. He’s surprised to find that it’s not sticky, before remembering that Candy made Bill wash it off before putting stage makeup on him. Stan closes the fridge door without taking anything out, and turns to the twins.

“What got into you kids today,” He questions, motioning for them to sit at the kitchen table. He takes his own seat before continuing. “I’ve never seen you two fight like that before. I mean an occasional fistfight between siblings isn’t exactly unusual, but you’ve never gone at it like that before.” He gives them an unreadable look. He doesn’t seem disapproving, or angry. His voice doesn’t even sound too concerned, but there’s something in his eyes akin to worry. It’s almost like he knows. Maybe he does. He hadn’t seemed to know about the strangeness of the town, but he had. He always had.

“I was really tired,” Dipper says blearily. It’s not untrue. “Mabel took the journal without asking me, and I got angry. I didn’t mean to ruin her play.” Dipper lies easily, a sheepish tone sinking into his words. He tells himself that they aren’t technically lies to begin with. Half truths at worst. Mabel makes a face, like she’s upset.

“I told you I was using it.” She argues, for effect. Dipper gives her a look. “Well, I guess I didn’t exactly ask before taking it.” She adds, shrinking slightly under his stare. Mabel always had been a good actress. “I think we’re even after you wrecked my play. I worked really hard on it, even if Gabe turned out to be a bit of a creep.” A smile finds it’s way to Dipper’s face, when he thinks about Gabe had kissed the puppets on his hands. He and Mabel are now both trying not to laugh.

“Well, it looks like you two got it worked out for yourselves.” Stan says, eyeing their pinched grins and Mabel’s shaking shoulders. Stan starts to get up from the table, and Mabel nudges Dipper’s uninjured arm lightly. A dark look flashes over Dippers features, and Mabel looks pointedly between Dipper and Stan. He’d rather take another nosedive from the theater’s rafters than do what he was about to do.

“Um, Grunkle Stan,” Dipper says, softly, but firmly. Stan looks down at him from across the table. He says nothing, but doesn’t make any attempt to move from where he is. “I hurt my arm when we fell at the show.” Dipper presses on, the knot in his stomach pulling tighter. Stan looks at his long coat, and raises an eyebrow. Dipper takes the hint, and removes the coat before gingerly rolling up the sleeve of his dress shirt.

“Yikes, kid.” Stan says, loudly, causing Dipper to start. There’s a nervous moment as everyone in the room takes in the dark bruises on his wrist and hand, and the speckling of smaller bruises peeking out from beneath the sleeve. “Can you move your fingers?” Stan asks, looking from Dipper’s hand to his face.

“Huh?” Dipper squeaks. Stan wiggles his own fingers, and Dipper nods. It takes a little effort, but he finds that he can indeed move them. He winces when the movement sends a sharp pain up his arm.

“Good,” Stan says, with a small smile. His voice still sounds unconcerned, but Mabel thinks she sees relief sink into his features. He goes back to the fridge, absently noting the puddle at his feet, and rummages through the freezer for a minute. “If you can move your fingers I highly doubt anything is broken. Plus, it would be more swollen than that.” He pulls out an ice pack, and walks back to the table. “Here kid.” He says, handing the ice pack to Dipper. Up close he can make out a few small, crimson splotches on the hiked up sleeve of Dipper’s shirt.

“Thanks,” Dipper says, taking the pack. He presses it lightly on his hand, and hisses softly at the mixture of pain and cold. Mabel follows her Grunkle’s gaze to Dipper’s sleeve, and squeaks. “What?” Dipper asks, turning to face her.

“Your shirt’s bloody.” She replies, her voice at a slightly higher pitch than usual. Dipper looks down at the offending stains on the white fabric. He says nothing. He’d tried to forget the image of those forks sticking out of his arm.

“Why don’t you go change into your regular clothes so we can take a better look at your arm?” Stan suggests, throwing a pointed look at the balled up clothes Dipper had placed on the table. There’s a hard edge to his voice that tells Dipper that he has little choice in the matter. He removes the ice pack from his hand, and grabs his clothes. As he leaves the room he can hear Stan say something to Mabel that he can’t quite make out.

In the bathroom Dipper removes the shirt, and cringes at his reflection in the mirror. He looks like he hasn’t slept in a year, and his body is peppered with small cuts and scrapes. He has a few other bruises here and there, but his left arm is covered in them. His wrist is entirely covered in a mix of dark red and purple splotches. Several small, but deep punctures crusted over with dried blood are spread across his forearm. He leave the costume discarded on the bathroom floor, and changes as quickly as he can with one reliable hand.

When he comes back down to the kitchen, he places his hat on his head, and sits in the chair like he was never gone. Stan has gotten out a first aid kit in his absence and it sits on the table between them. Mabel picks at a loose thread on her sweater, looking a bit guilty. Dipper wonders if she told Stan what happened. He pushes the thought away as quickly as it comes. She said she wouldn’t, and Mabel keeps her promises. She quietly excuses herself from the room, before getting up from her chair.

“So, what really happened?” Stan asks as he opens the first aid kit. Dipper makes an indignant sound at the back of his throat, and turns his head in the direction Mabel had scurried away. “Relax kid, your sister didn’t rat you out. Her clamming up when I asked her what happened didn’t help your case, but she didn’t say anything.”

“Then why-” Dipper begins only to be cut off.

“Holes in your arm; no holes in your shirt. If you’d gotten hurt when you said you did the shirt would be damaged too.” Stan explains. He swipes a wet cloth across Dipper’s arm to clean away the dry blood. Dipper swallows down a cry. “So, are you going to tell me what happened, or am I going to have to interrogate your sister?” Stan asks as he rummages around for disinfectant. Dipper can’t tell if he’s joking or not.

“I uh,” Dipper starts, unsure what to say. Stan finds the disinfectant and opens the bottle. Dipper hisses loudly when Stan swipes the stingy liquid over his wounds. Wiping away the dried blood had opened them up again, and small dots of scarlet were beading on his forearm. “I don’t want to talk about it.” Dipper says, looking at the ground. Stan sticks a couple of bandages on his arm, and crouches to look him in the eyes.

“You know I’m not the enemy right,” Stan asks in the kindest tone Dipper has ever heard him use. “If this was weird monster stuff, you can tell me. I don’t want you and Mabel to feel like you have to keep hiding that from me.” Dipper doesn’t know what to say. His throat feels hot and constricted like he might start crying, but he wont let himself. Not in front of Stan, who’s spent all summer trying to toughen him up. There’s a long, uncomfortable moment while they stare at each other, neither wanting to be the first to look away.

“I just want to go to sleep.” Dipper breathes, finally breaking eye contact. It’s barely more than a whisper, and for a moment he worries Stan didn’t hear him. Stan thinks about how tired Dipper had looked that morning. Remembers how Mabel had reprimanded him for not getting any sleep. He thinks about how Mabel had been so busy all day, and how, surely, Dipper had fought whatever had done this alone. That explained why Mabel looked so guilty when he had asked her what happened. She didn’t know.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so, this chapter only got finished a few days ago. It took like 5 months because I sort of lost interest.. but yeah!! I don't know if/when I'll do another chapter of this, but I want to continue it. Hopefully it'll update within the next few months..
> 
> On tumblr: http://ectopuppy.tumblr.com/post/113571358866/half-truths-ch-2  
> On Fanfiction: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/10752457/2/Half-Truths

Dipper jolts awake, his face slick with sweat. He pulls in panicked, shallow breaths that can’t quite seem to find their way to the bottom of his lungs. His heart thunders so loudly in his chest that he thinks Mabel could hear it from across the room. The exact content of his nightmare sits somewhere beyond his grasp, but Bill’s echoing laugh rings in his ears. Dipper suddenly feels like he’s suffocating. He throws his covers off, careful not to jostle his injured arm, and gets up from his bed. He throws several glances Mabel’s way, to make sure she’s still asleep, before exiting their shared room.

Dipper makes his way down to the kitchen, hoping that a glass of water will help him feel better. He clings to the stair rail like a lifeline. When he reaches the bottom, he trails his fingers along the tattered wallpaper that lines the shack’s interior. He feels insubstantial, like if he were to pull his hand away he could dissolve into nothing. Bill’s taunting voice rolls through his mind over and over: “ _You don’t exist._ ”

The roughness beneath Dipper’s fingertips grounds him. The sound of his feet on the floor reminds him that he’s solid. The breath that drags along his dry throat guarantees that he’s alive. Dipper thinks, bitterly, that these are not reminders a normal boy should need. When he arrives in the kitchen he throws a glare towards the clock, which reads _4:23._ It’s late enough to seem like an okay time to get up for the day, but Dipper isn’t sure he wants to be awake alone. His fear sets him on edge, and every other minute he’s sure the colour will drain from the room.

While he gets himself a glass of water, Dipper examines the bandages on his arm. The memories of his and Stan’s exchange yesterday swim on the surface of his mind. For a moment, Stan had looked so lost and unsure that Dipper’s heart had panged with guilt. Then Stan’s expression hardened, and he ruffled Dipper’s hair lightly. “ _Alright,_ ” He had said, the nonchalant tone Dipper was growing to equate with worry seeping into his voice. “ _Let’s get you to bed then._ ”

Though he’s glad Stan hadn’t pressed him at the time, Dipper knows it won’t be over so easily. Just like Mabel, Stan will need to know more about what happened. Dipper will tell them both, he just needs some time to figure things out for himself. He sighs deep into his chest, staring down into his glass. The silence of night in the shack is eerie, but it’s also soothing. For the first time since bill appeared that night on the roof, Dipper lets himself relax.

He’s not sure how long he stays like this, standing motionless and alone in the kitchen. It seems, simultaneously, like it could be hours or mere seconds. He thinks of nothing, and loses himself in the calmness of the night. When the lights snap on above him Dipper jumps so violently he drops the glass in his hands. The shattering at his feet crashes in his ears like a thunder clap, and he bites his tongue to keep from crying out.

“Woah,” He hears someone say from his right. He whips his head in the direction of the voice, and spots Stan in the doorway. Stan holds up his hands in a calming gesture, like he’s attempting to soothe a startled horse. “Didn’t mean to scare ya’, kid.” He glances at Dipper’s bare feet, and the shattered glass that sprawls across the linoleum. Stan rounds his shoulders and sighs. “I’ll get the broom.” He says, stepping back out of the room.

Dipper feels like his heart is in his throat. All of his frustrations flood back to him at once, and he swallows down the bitter yell that threatens to escape his lungs. He glowers down at the glass on the floor, like it’s somehow to blame for all of this. Dipper’s hands shake at his sides, and he feels tears beginning to form in his eyes. He blinks hard, trying his hardest to stop the tears, but it’s no use. He wants to run, but the glass at his feet keeps him glued to the spot.

Stan returns with the broom and dustpan, and begins sweeping the glass away. Dipper isn’t sure if Stan is ignoring his tears or if he just hasn’t noticed yet. When the glass is cleared, Stan props the broom up against the wall. He stops in the doorway for a moment, before turning to face Dipper again. Stan takes in his nephews shaking hands and averted gaze, and sighs to himself. “It’s okay to cry sometimes, you know.”

Dipper meets Stan’s eyes, and tears drip onto his cheeks. Surprise colours Dipper’s face, and guilt twists in Stan’s stomach like a knife. He feels the same way he had the night of the zombie attack, when he’d realized that in an attempt to keep the kids safe, he’d only pushed them away from him. He feels like he must be the lousiest stand-in parent in the world. He pushes the thought from his mind, this isn’t about him, it’s about Dipper.

Tears are falling from Dipper’s eyes in a constant stream now. The wet tracks feel hot on his cheeks at first before cooling in the night air. He doesn’t lift a hand to wipe them away, he knows there’d be no point in it. Stan walks over to him, and does one of the last things Dipper would have expected him to do. He kneels down to gently wrap his arms around his great nephew. He pulls away an inch when Dipper’s posture stiffens in his embrace, but after a second Dipper’s shoulders relax.

“It’s okay.” Stan whispers, cradling the back of Dipper’s head in his hand. “You’re okay, now.”

Dipper, who hadn’t thought he had the energy, begins to sob into Stan’s shoulder. He balls his hand into Stan’s dingy tank top and cries with the urgency of a child lost in an unfamiliar place. Stan rubs Dippers back in small circles, and Dipper is reminded of the way his parents would do the same when he was little.

Stan stays there letting Dipper cry into his shirt until the unforgiving tile floor becomes unbearable on his knee. He hoists Dipper up with a grunt, and a loud, protesting pop from his back. He carries Dipper to the living room, and settles them both into the recliner. Slowly, Dipper’s sobs settle into little hiccupping noises, and sniffles, before morphing into soft snores. Stan gives Dipper a sad smile, and glances at the bandages wrapped around his wrist.

“Sorry, kid.” Stan says softly, careful not to wake him back up. He should be paying more attention to the kids, and not the portal, but he can’t just throw away thirty years of work. He considers sending them home for the hundredth time, but picturing their heartbroken faces in the bus window pushes the thought from his mind. He’ll just have to prioritize better, that’s all.

With a gruff sigh, Stan pushes himself up, trying his best to keep Dipper from jostling too much. Stan manages not to wake him, and adjusts Dipper in his arms. He turns toward the stairs, and eyes a drawing of what looks like a unicorn crossed with a pig taped to the inside of the front door.

Climbing a flight of stairs while carrying a twelve-year-old proves just as difficult as Stan had imagined it would be, and he’s almost completely winded by the time he reaches the top. He heaves a few deep breaths and continues into the makeshift bedroom in the attic.

Gently, Stan places Dipper in his bed, and smiles at Mabel snuggled up against one of her stuffed animals. Waddles is curled up at the foot of her bed like a dog. Stan turns back to Dipper and pulls the covers up to his chin. Stan spies the third journal peeking out from under Dippers bed, and bends to pick it up. He runs his fingers over the gold, six-fingered hand on the cover, and turns back to Dipper.

 _Maybe I shouldn’t have let him keep it._ Stan thinks. For a moment he considers taking it right then and there, but then thinks better of it. _This book could be the reason the kid’s even alive right now._ Stan places the journal on Dippers bedside table beside a children’s mystery novel. He smooths a hand over Dipper’s bangs, and breathes out a melancholy sigh.

“Grunkle Stan,” Mabel asks, sitting up to wipe the sleep from her eyes. The muscles in Stan’s back tense for a second in surprise, but he manages to keep his composure. He turns around, and smiles softly. Mabel looks around blearily before her eyes land on Dipper sleeping soundly in his bed. “You never come up here, what’s wrong?” She yawns, and Waddles turns his head to face her, knocking a stuffed animal onto the floor. Stan picks it up and places it on Mabel’s bed.

“Nothing,” Stan says, ruffling Mabel’s hair gently. She closes her eyes and smiles until Stan pulls his hand away again. “Go back to sleep, sweetie.”

“M’kay.” Mabel replies, laying back down. Waddles walks over and plops down beside her. Stan walks to the door, and is about to leave when Mabel sits back up. “Wait.” She whispers with a quiet sense of urgency. Stan turns back around in the doorway, and Mabel runs her hands over a lock of her hair the way she does when she anxious. She stares at her brother for a moment before looking back at Stan. “Do you think Dipper will be okay?” She asks in a voice so quiet Stan is surprised he could even hear her.

He walks back over to her, and sits down on the end of her bed, grimacing at the sharp creak the springs make. He runs his tongue over the roof of his mouth, thinking about how to best answer that question. His heart wants to immediately assure her that Dipper will be fine, but it’s not that simple. Stan watches as Dipper stirs and makes a pained expression. “That’s a complicated question to answer.” He says, looking back at Mabel. “In time, I’m sure things will get back to normal, but how long that will take is up to him.”

“What do you mean?” Mabel asks, pulling her knees up and resting her chin on them.

“He could wake up tomorrow and decide he feels fine,” Stan explains. “Or he could feel bad for months. Whatever happened today seems like it messed him up pretty bad, and not just his arm.” Stan trails off, and he and Mabel spend a moment watching Dipper sleep. Stan glances at Mabel out of the corner of his eye, and her helpless expression makes him wish he could take back what he said. He places a gentle hand on her shoulder. “Look, kid, I’m going to let you in on a little secret, alright?”

Mabel looks up at him and knits her eyebrows together. “What kind of secret?” She asks, absentmindedly patting Waddles’s head.

“Don’t ever tell him I said so,” Stan says in a mock-conspiratorial tone. “But your brother’s a lot stronger than anyone gives him credit for. I honestly wouldn’t be surprised to see him back to his old self within a week or two. Give him some time and space, and I’m sure he’ll figure everything out.”

Mabel smiles and nods, her curly hair bouncing up and down with the movement. She mimicks zipping her mouth shut, and her smile takes on a mischievous edge. Stan smiles softly, and pushes himself up from the bed. “Thanks Grunkle Stan.”

“Don’t mention it.” Stan replies, walking back to the door again. He turns in the doorway and throws a final glance a Dipper. “Now try and get some sleep.” Stan says, turning his attention back to Mabel. She nods and lays down, draping an arm over Waddles. Stan gives her a lopsided grin, and heads back downstairs. He glances at his watch and lets out a heavy sigh. There’s only an hour and a half until his alarm would be going off.

He makes his way to the phone, and watches the first hints of sunrise colour the sky. He picks up the phone and punches in Soos’s number. He drums his fingers on the table while the phone rings. Abuelita answers on the second ring. “Hello?”

“Hey Abuelita,” Stan says, leaning on the table with one hand. “I need to talk to Soos.” There’s the distinctive sound of springs creaking as Abuelita gets up from a chair and moseys to Soos’s bedroom. She opens the door, and hands the phone to him with a soft _'Phone for you, mi'ijo'._

“Hullo,” Soos’s sleep garbled voice answers on the end of the line.

“I need you to run an errand for me.” Stan says, standing up straight again. He looks back out the window at the rapidly brightening sky.  
“It’s easy.” He tacks on after a second.

“What is it?” Soos questions, starting to sound more awake.

“I need you to swing by the home repair shop and buy some fabric glue before you come in to work. That darn Jackalope head’s starting to fall apart again.” Stan explains. There’s a rustling of blankets as Soos rolls over to look at his clock.

“Sure thing Mr. Pines.” Soos says. There’s some faint clicking sounds as Soos adjusts his alarm.

“Good,” Stan replies. That will get him another hour or two of sleep. He just needs to make sure he’s awake by nine to let Wendy in. “Anyway I’m going to bed.”

“You’re only going to bed now?” Soos asks, concern slipping into his voice. Stan closes his eyes hard, and thinks for a second. He’d meant to say ‘back to bed’. It really had been a long day.

“I fell asleep in my chair,” He lies, easily. “Not the best place to sleep.”

“Oh, okay. Well, see you later then.” Soos replies.

“Bye.” Stan says, hanging up the phone without waiting for a reply. He wipes a hand over his tired face, and breathes for a second before wandering off to his room. He pauses outside his door and throws a final glance in the direction of the attic stairs, before opening the door and stepping inside.


End file.
